


Bindeth Me About as the Collar of My Coat

by Lurlur



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Plug, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Collars, Crowley Cries During Sex (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sub Crowley (Good Omens), Sybian usage, Vibrators, contains art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25774996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: Inspired by a stunning piece of artNeat nails scratch at the nape of his neck, just above the thick leather of Crowley’s collar. Despite his reservations, he leans into the touch, dropping his head back and exposing much of his throat. Aziraphale’s fingers sink into Crowley’s hair, grasping close to his scalp and holding him still.“You’re doing so very well for me, Crowley,” Aziraphale says from just behind Crowley’s ear, his lips brushing ever so gently against the skin. “You can last a little longer for me, can’t you?”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 346
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	Bindeth Me About as the Collar of My Coat

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, for anyone grumpy that this isn't the final Soho update, don't worry. I've written the last chapter and it is in the process of being edited. You should only have a few more days to wait.
> 
> Secondly! My very great thanks to [Claire](https://twitter.com/nothistoryart) and [Bucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky) without whom this filthy little fic would not have been possible.  
> Claire created some frankly STUNNING art that was so far up my alley, I feel I should have offered it breakfast. Bucky made sure I saw said art and then prodded me along in the process of writing the accompanying fic. THEN they beta read the thing too. What a pal!
> 
> Please do give Claire the attention their art deserves [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/nothistoryart/status/1291884881522417670?s=20)
> 
> I've been struggling lately. My output has been suffering and I really worried that I had lost whatever spark it was that made me into a writer. I am eternally grateful to Claire and Bucky for helping me find the flow again, as well as all my friends in the MoFu server who cheer me on. I love you very much.

Crowley is conflicted.

The part of him still capable of more than just  _ need  _ and  _ want _ is yelling out that Aziraphale is hurting him. Aziraphale is the cause of every one of Crowley’s screaming nerve endings, the overstimulation of this physical body, the heavy feeling in his limbs. If Aziraphale would just  _ stop _ then Crowley could gather himself, organise his thoughts, work out what he needs. Right now he just knows that he hurts and that he wants Aziraphale to hold him.

It doesn’t make sense; he’s dimly aware that none of this makes sense. The urge to curl up in the arms of the one causing his agony is foolish at best, self-destructive at worst and, well, Crowley’s always had a knack for flirting with disaster, hasn’t he?

Neat nails scratch at the nape of his neck, just above the thick leather of Crowley’s collar. Despite his reservations, he leans into the touch, dropping his head back and exposing much of his throat. Aziraphale’s fingers sink into Crowley’s hair, grasping close to his scalp and holding him still.

“You’re doing so very well for me, Crowley,” Aziraphale says from just behind Crowley’s ear, his lips brushing ever so gently against the skin. “You can last a little longer for me, can’t you?”

Crowley whines, too overwhelmed to care about appearances.

“Yes,” he hisses at last, still nuzzling back into Aziraphale’s hand.

That earns him a kiss just below his jaw, on the slim strip of skin visible above his collar. With his neck bent like this, the collar is tight around his throat. Not enough to choke him but just tight enough to make his vision a little dim at the edges. He’s in Aziraphale’s hands, he doesn’t need to worry. He’s safe.

The blessed machine beneath him starts to rumble again and suddenly there’s no room for any other thought. Aziraphale’s chest is pressed against his back and it grounds him as the vibrating plug in his ass gets up to speed. He’s whimpering and writhing almost immediately, both trying to get away from the sensation and trying to force himself further onto it. Only Aziraphale’s hands, one in his hair and one low on his stomach, keep him in place.

“You want to come very badly, don’t you?” Aziraphale asks, his fingers flexing slightly against Crowley’s abdomen.

Distantly, and a little hysterically, Crowley wonders if Aziraphale can feel the plug distorting his insides. Ah, but he was asked a question.

“Yes, please, please,” he begs, well beyond the point of being too proud for it.

His fingers are digging into the meagre meat of his thighs, holding himself still on the blasted contraption that Aziraphale has him straddling. Everything is too much, too intense, but he knows he mustn’t climax and wouldn’t dream of disappointing Aziraphale like that, not even with his self-control in tatters and his nails leaving small half-moon slices in his skin.

Aziraphale leans back, his hand slipping around to Crowley’s hip and holding him tight. Crowley’s body moves with him, the cold metal decorating his collar falling against his overheated skin. The tips of golden angel wings brush against his throat when he swallows and it feels so much like a caress that he almost cries.

“A little more,” Aziraphale decides and the rumbling vibrations increase once more.

Crowley cries out, a wordless plea for release, as his prostate is thoroughly abused by the toy he’s riding. He won’t come, he  _ can’t _ come just from this, and Aziraphale knows it.

_ You can just get up, _ a voice says from inside Crowley’s head,  _ nothing is holding you here. _ And it’s true, he’s only tolerating this because he wants to, because he wants to please Aziraphale and, tonight,  _ this _ is what pleases Aziraphale. He’d understand if Crowley threw himself off the damn thing and curled up around his aching cock until nothing hurt any more, of course he would. Aziraphale would understand, but he’d also worry. He’d worry that he’d pushed Crowley too far, or that Crowley hadn’t felt able to end things in their agreed manner, he’d fuss and withdraw and he wouldn’t want to play this way again for a long time.

On balance, Crowley decides, he can do this. He doesn’t want this to end before Aziraphale allows it to be over. This is a torture he can withstand because the reward is so very sweet. He can withstand a lot for Aziraphale. He’s had practice.

Making all sorts of noises that are unbecoming of a demon, Crowley grinds his hips down to force the plug deeper until he’s almost fucking himself with it. The intensity of the vibrations dissipate with his movements, but this pleasure is far more consuming. Crowley feels as though he might explode and he’s been riding this edge for what feels like hours. His cock must think his hands have fallen off.

Without warning, Aziraphale’s lips are on him, placing delicate kisses along the sweat-damp skin of Crowley’s shoulder. There’s no word for the sound that Crowley makes then, it’s an inhuman cry that defies all knowledge of frequencies, an infernal call of deep-rooted need that Crowley can no longer contain.

“You’ve been so good, so well-behaved, my sweet darling,” Aziraphale says, making Crowley shiver. “Let go, it’s all right, I’ve got you.”

Crowley’s eyes squeeze shut and he tries, really tries, to let himself fall over the edge of his pleasure. He can’t. His release is close enough to be palpable but he can’t quite reach it.

“M-may I touch?” he asks, lifting one trembling hand to gesture at his aching cock.

Aziraphale hums, considering the request, and Crowley wants to cry.

“Do you need to?”

“Yes! Yes, please, angel. Please,” Crowley gasps. He manages a glance down at his poor, neglected cock, so hard that the head is shiny and tight.

Aziraphale doesn’t answer, at least not with words. Instead, his hand slides forward from Crowley’s hip until his thumb and index finger are wrapped around the base of Crowley’s erection. He squeezes hard enough to make Crowley yelp, pulling him abruptly away from the looming precipice of orgasm. Now the tears begin in earnest, running down Crowley’s cheeks as his entire body shudders at the sudden shift.

Slowly, Aziraphale loosens his grip and strokes up Crowley’s shaft, apparently determined to draw out the finale for as long as possible. Crowley’s murmuring a little chant of ‘yes’ and ‘please’ under his breath as Aziraphale works to bring him to a long-awaited orgasm. It hurts, Aziraphale is hurting him in all the best and most intimate of ways, but Crowley wouldn’t change a thing. He leans back into Aziraphale’s chest again, finding comfort even as his climax builds.

Half a second before Crowley hits the point of no return, Aziraphale sinks his teeth into the muscle of Crowley’s shoulder. Pleasure and pain combine into far more than the sum of their parts, making stars burst behind Crowley’s eyes until his vision is a blanket of white. It seems to last forever, Aziraphale’s hands on his cock and in his hair, holding him through the shock of his orgasm, drawing out every last synaptic spasm of pleasure from his exhausted, overstimulated body.

“There you are, my darling,” Aziraphale is saying, drawing Crowley into his arms, “you’ve been such a very good toy for me tonight, I’m exceptionally proud of you.”

Dimly aware that the terrible vibrations have ceased, Crowley lets himself go loose and boneless against Aziraphale, putting up no resistance when he’s lifted off the machine and settled into a nest of soft pillows.

Aziraphale holds a glass of cool water to Crowley’s lips, letting him take small sips. It feels marvellous to be cared for like this, Crowley thinks, to be fussed over and treated like something delicate and treasured. He wishes he could accept this kind of care every day, knowing that Aziraphale would gladly give it, but something in him prickles at softness he doesn’t feel he deserves.

“How are you feeling?” Aziraphale asks, his eyes searching Crowley’s face for something unnameable.

“Perfect,” Crowley manages, his voice rough around the edges but his smile as genuine as they get.

Satisfied, Aziraphale sets about cleaning Crowley’s stomach and thighs with a soft, damp cloth. He tuts over the crimson traces of Crowley’s nails before bending to kiss each one. It’s all been worth it.

Once he’s clean, Crowley moves to snuggle into Aziraphale’s side only to be held back. Aziraphale reaches for the buckle at the back of Crowley’s neck, meaning to remove the collar. A tiny flare of panic lights inside Crowley’s heart.

“Can I – uh – can I keep it on?” he asks, looking away from Aziraphale. “Just for a little bit.”

“Oh, love, of course. It’s yours, you may wear it as long as you like,” Aziraphale says as he relaxes back into the pillows and draws Crowley close.

There’s a lot more care and comfort in Crowley’s immediate future, but they can rest for a while now. Crowley thinks he might actually like to wear the collar for a lot longer, if it’s all the same to Aziraphale. They’ll talk about it later, there’s time.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like these little one-shots, why not come yell ideas at me on tumblr? [I like new friends.](https://luritto.tumblr.com/)


End file.
